Perchance to Dream
by lady bundtcake
Summary: Zoisite, Kunzite, mushy pseudo-love story, what more could you want?


PERCHANCE TO DREAM  
  
December 2003  
  
Author's Notes: I really like writing these Kunzite/Zoisite mush fics. I gave it an R rating due to the yaoi edge and the implied sex, but it's really nothing explicit and I think R is a bit on the extreme side. Alas.  
  
Hope you enjoy. Complaints go here: rikalicious@hotmail.com  
  
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PERCHANCE TO DREAM  
  
I love to watch him sleep.  
  
By day, he's so aggressive. You wouldn't think it from looking at him, the way he always holds his face in a seemingly impassive expression, but beneath the glassy exterior lies a heart, soul, and mind that are constantly churning, burning, plotting and planning. Sometimes he seems almost more machine than man, the way he never seems to tire, the way he's always on his toes, ready for anything. He's a brilliant man. An incomparable general. Of course, this all goes without saying ... he wouldn't be where he is today if he wasn't all of those things.   
  
By night, he's an animal, but I'm the only one who could really testify to that. It's at night, long after the day's work has concluded, that I remember he isn't a machine but wholly human ... well, demon. It is here that he unleashes his desire, but even in this area he maintains an impossible level of control. When he makes love to me, he is evermore the cold, calculating general I see exercising authority over the youma. He's not like me; at the end of the day, I'm exhausted. Completely. Like tonight ...  
  
I entered our shared quarters, feeling more than drained. It had been another training day for me, only Kunzaito-sama was unable to meet with me because Beryl had called her highest ranking officers together for one of their interminable meetings. So I had been sent off to sparring practice, using youma as my targets ... I mean, opponents. It had exhausted me more than my usual training with Lord Kunzite; Kunzaito-sama may be bigger and more powerful than me, but he's only one man, as opposed to scores of youma intent on eliminating who they call the "pretty sakura whore". I'm sure it stems from their own bitterness and jealousy, the fact that their fangs and disgusting skin prevent them from ever having a lover as I do. I know they loathe me for my beauty, and the position I've gained because of it. I know. And I kept them at bay and then some, but a day's worth of intensive training still exhausted me utterly.  
  
And so I shakily peeled off my uniform jacket, wadding it into a useless gray lump. It was moist with sweat and smelled a bit ranker than I liked to admit. I tossed the crumpled mass on the floor and undid my ponytail, shaking my long hair loose. It too was damp, and I ran my fingers through it in an attempt at untangling the mess as I tugged my boots off with the other hand. I was just about to strip off my pants and undershirt and head for the shower when I heard a small sound. Whirling around, I saw Kunzaito-sama's big frame leaning in the bedroom doorway.  
  
I was embarrassed; normally after training, Kunzaito-sama permits me to hurriedly teleport to our quarters to wash and freshen up before he follows me home and ... "greets" me ... but I had arrived home later than usual today, no thanks to those damned youma, and I felt awkward and disheveled with my undone uniform and sweat-soaked hair. Impulsively, I made a face, sticking my tongue out ruefully before batting my eyes and peering up at him through my long lashes. He usually lets me have my way when I do this.  
  
"You're home early," I purred, wrapping a tendril of my golden hair through my fingers and grinning playfully.  
  
"On the contrary; you're later than usual."  
  
I bit my lip, feeling abashed and unsure of how to hide it. Ah, what was the use? Kunzaito-sama could read me like a book; he said this was my own fault because my emotions flushed so readily on my face, but I think a lot of it was sheer perception.  
  
"Youma kept me late. Those bitches just couldn't get enough of me,"I said, pushing a lock of hair behind my ear and shyly looking up through my tousled bangs.   
  
An almost imperceptible smile flickered on Kunzaito-sama's otherwise icy features, and I thought I caught an affectionate gleam buried in those clear, pale eyes. Perhaps I imagined it. But imagination or not, it had a distinct affect on my emotions, as well as ... other areas.   
  
"You're a mess," he said, sounding slightly amused with himself.  
  
I pouted. I hate not looking beautiful for him. Hate it. It's always been my fear that I won't be lovely enough for him, that he'll abandon me for some more gorgeous creature. Of course, and not to brag or anything because it is true, I am the most attractive being in the Dark Kingdom, but it's not as though I have much competition when placed next to Beryl or the youma. And Nephrite and Jadeite may be lookers, but they definitely aren't Kunzaito-sama's type.  
  
It still doesn't reassure me all that much. I sometimes wonder if I'll ever be truly his.  
  
I felt my lip jutting out as far as it could go and I gazed at the floor, my hair draping over my shoulders and falling around my face like a waterfall of gold. It tickled my cheeks but I didn't brush it aside. I wanted to look both lovely and pitiful, to melt that icy heart of Kunzaito-sama's just a bit.  
  
I heard his heavy footsteps as he crossed the distance between us in just a few short strides. He wrapped one arm around my waist and put his other hand beneath my chin, tilting my face upward. I stared into his mirror-like eyes, seeing my own reflection doubled. He ran his hand back through my hair before pulling my head to his face and kissing my mouth roughly.  
  
"That doesn't mean you aren't beautiful," he growled against my lips. "You are. Damned beautiful."  
  
"Kunzaito-sama," I gasped, not meaning for it to sound as light and weak as it did. He kissed me once more to shut me up before laying me down on his bed. He shed his jacket and swiftly moved to cover my body with his. His movements are so agile, so impossibly graceful; his lean, muscular body moves like a panther, svelt and fluid, the silvered hair falling down around his face and resting against my cheeks and throat as he kisses me.   
  
As we made love, I was continually reminded of that calm grace, the way his movements are always so smooth and so calculated. He's the complete opposite of me. I whimper, I moan, I even cry out occasionally until he suffocates my cries with kisses. My movements are quick, jerky, impulsive. I clutch his fine, silky hair, I writhe my little body against his tanned flesh, I scream his name and beg him to have his way with me. Emotions explode within me and nothing makes sense; I can't make order out of our lovemaking, I only know that I'm desperate for more.  
  
He is calm, firm. He takes control of me like he takes control of everything in his life, using me as an instrument of pleasure, playing whatever melody he wants on my soft, white skin. He never loses his cool with me, even in the throes of passion he is still my icy lord. He growls odes to my beauty in my ear, whispering huskily that he has never seen a creature as lovely as I am, and his words are nearly enough to push me to the edge as I shiver with pleasure from the sound of his rumbling voice.   
  
When our lovemaking was complete, I finally began to see the faintness of fatigue in his eyes. He kissed me once more with delicious softness before pulling me into a gentle embrace, wrapping his big arms around me as I leaned into his chest, letting the softest of sighs escape me. He felt my breath on his lips and smiled only slightly, his reflective eyes peering dimly at me from between his half-closed lids. I think I am the only one who ever sees such smiles. The only one who ever sees anything more from him than cold aggression.  
  
He kissed me briefly on the forehead before settling his head into the pillow, letting his eyes close as he drifted off into sleep.  
  
I watched him rest. Watched the hard lines of his face soften just barely, just enough to let me know he was sleeping deeply. I listened to the quiet rasp of his breathing, watched his sides gently rise and fall. Despite my own tiredness, I felt I could have spent hours just gazing at that handsome, chiseled face without ever tiring of the view. I felt so comfortable, gazing at the silver-haired man who was still embracing me tightly in his warm, sleeping arms.  
  
I shifted slightly, cuddling up closer to him and placing one tender kiss on his lips, lingering there as long as I dared to without waking him. "Sleep well, my Kunzaito-sama," I said.   
  
I would never have dared to presume ownership over him during his waking hours, but in the quiet still of night, as he dreamed with me in his arms, I felt I could let it slip.  
  
As I curled my head against his muscled chest, I thought I felt the rough pads of his fingertips gently caressing my back. And as my tired mind slowly clouded up with sleepiness, I thought I heard him whisper, "Sleep well, my Zoisaito."  
  
Perhaps it was just a dream. 


End file.
